Kentucky Traveler by Ricky Skaggs

Author:Ricky Skaggs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

When we hit the festival circuit in the spring of 1975, we caused quite a stir. A lot of purists and old-timers didn’t take kindly to our style of bluegrass. They didn’t hear enough old in the new. It wrinkled a lot of feathers, but we didn’t care about the naysayers. There was one man whose opinion did matter to me, though, and that was Ralph Stanley. When he pulled into the campgrounds, I’d tell J.D. and the boys, “I’ll see y’all in a while. I gotta go pay my respects.” I did this because I wanted to honor him and let him know I hadn’t left the fold, no matter what some people might be saying. I’d brag on Ralph, and I’d try to praise him from the stage, too. I didn’t care if it made him feel a little embarrassed. I didn’t want to let him think his music didn’t mean anything to me anymore just because I was playing a different kind of bluegrass now.

Ralph was never a big booster of progressive bluegrass or newgrass or whatever name they called it, and he didn’t pretend to love what we were doing in the New South. But he never put me down, never lectured me. He told me that he’d always stay behind me just like I stayed behind him. He blessed me when I left his band, and he blessed me now.

Sometimes we’d see Bill Monroe at the festivals, too. He never said much at all about what he thought of the new groups. I heard he hated the word newgrass and didn’t much like the musical sound of it, either. He tolerated us youngsters more than anything. By then, though, he was already moving into his role as the elder statesman of bluegrass. In those days, we all had shaggy long hair that hung down to our shoulders. Even J.D. had let his red hair grow. Mr. Monroe used to love pointing us out to folks and poking fun at us. “How about J.D. Crowe and his outfit,” he’d say. “They look just like a herd of Shetland ponies, don’t they?” You have to understand that Mr. Monroe still worked his farm with plow horses instead of tractors. Coming from him, that was a real compliment!

In August we went to Japan for a ten-day, eight-show tour, starting in Tokyo and traveling to some smaller towns. It was the first time I had been out of the country, ever. It was a real eye-opener, and an ear-opener. We played big concert halls, and they were packed everywhere we went. The crowds were louder than anything we’d ever heard, even louder than the drunks at the Red Slipper. In those days, the Japanese were probably the most devoted bluegrass fans in the world. They were on fire for bluegrass. To them, it was more than music—it was almost like a religion. What impressed me was how many had taken up the music, and they played well, too. After one show, I had a kid come up to me, maybe eighteen years old, hair as long as mine.

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